


Leather Jacket

by endemictoearth



Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:42:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4343630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endemictoearth/pseuds/endemictoearth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn gives the Bowie back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leather Jacket

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anonymous prompt on Tumblr, sent right after 2.02: http://endemictoearth.tumblr.com/post/77379926441/leather-jacket

He’d slipped it off over her head in his room. And after her mum barged in and interrupted them, he saw it on her bed before he left for football. He didn’t take it with him, though. He liked the idea of it being with her, on her bed, in her room, until they could continue what they started.

It was that moment in her room that he wished he could return to, rewind the past couple of weeks and go back to when they were in her room and she was happy. Happy because he had made her happy.

She’d brought it back. Of course she had. Shoved it into his chest and spoke too fast about being sorry about it, ruining the jacket, everything. It wasn’t him, she said. It was her.

It was her.

He didn’t know why she said she’d ruined the jacket, but she most certainly had. But the ruins at least felt real, like something had happened. That he hadn’t imagined it all. The jacket was a reminder of all that might have been, and that’s why he wore it to meet her, early in the morning before college.

She hadn’t given him many tangible things. The intangible things she’d given him were almost innumerable, but on the top of a stack of CDs, there it was. The Bowie CD she’d lent him. The one he didn’t figure he’d ever need to return, because if she wanted to listen to it, it would be on his bed with him. 

But he thought the ritual of returning something would help. He couldn’t even remember who called who about meeting, he’d been so numb.

Before he headed out, he saw the jacket hanging on the back of his door, still in plastic. He gingerly took it off the hanger and held it at arm’s length by each shoulder, just staring at it. It had lived with her for over a week, in her room. On her bed? What had it seen? What did she reveal in front of it that she couldn’t with him? He brought the jacket to his face, the collar covering his nose. Breathing deep, he tried to catch a scent of her, but if she was there, it was lost in the smell of the leather itself. 

He slipped the jacket on. He wondered if she’d ever worn it. He would have loved it if she’d worn it to college, slipping her hand into his as they walked through the halls together. 

His heart had never hurt this much.

He always knew he was going to get something wrong. He just hoped they’d be able to work it out. What had she said, again?

She was sorry.

She had ruined everything.

It was all too much.

She was swaying gently on the swing as he made his way over to her, Bowie clutched tightly in his fist. 

Maybe if he made a little joke, that it was harder to give her back Bowie than … the other. 

But no. He couldn’t keep that going for even a second because he couldn’t even SAY the words that she had left. That she was gone. That even though she sat right there next to him, she wasn’t his. He wasn’t enough to make her stay. 

And then the words are tumbling out of his mouth. He can’t be friends with her right now. Her face twists, and he almost wavers, but no. It’s his decision. She decided she would leave and the only decision he gets to make is what he does about it. And he’s doing this. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to be friends with her, but he knows he can’t avoid her entirely. 

He pushes himself up off the swing, and even though it’s a still September morning, he turns the collar of his leather jacket up as he walks away, hunching his shoulders. The chill isn’t in the air; it’s in his heart.


End file.
